WHEN I RETURNED TO THE office, my head was still reeling. Who was Tartt to tell me I was wrong about an article he hadn't even read? If he didn't want people writing about his performance on the pitch, he shouldn't have become a professional soccer player. Where did he get the right to tell me how to do my job?

"I mean, I'm doing my job! He can't get mad at me for that," I vented to James and he clicked away at his computer.

"I mean..." he trailed off. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"No," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "No way you're on his side!"

He leaned back in his chair and angled it away from the computer so he was looking straight at me. I bit the inside of my cheek slightly as I waited for him to speak. "Okay, yes he shouldn't have freaked out on you. You're just doing your job," James mediated me.

"But?"

He exhaled a long, long exhale and titled his head slightly as he looked at me. "Buuut," he dragged the word out, like he was trying to stall for time. I threw my stress ball at him at get him to continue.

"Hey, ouch!" James batted the ball off of him and continued, "but I don't think him getting upset is completely unjustified. If someone wrote an article using you as an example of The Independents biggest problems, wouldn't you feel a little offended?"

No, no I wouldn't. Not if the article was anything like the I'd written. I mean, I wouldn't be that upset. Maybe mildly annoyed. Possibly ever so slightly.... devastated.

"I'd read the article first and realize that they also praised me in it. Then maybe I wouldn't care as much," I snipped back.

James sighed and held eye contact with me for a moment. "Sabrina, get your head out of your arse. Yes you'd be upset, but no you didn't do anything wrong by writing the article because the article is right."

"Okay, okay," I relented. "Yes, I'd be upset. I wouldn't freak out on the author if I bumped into them though."

"Because you could sympathize with the author. Since you've been that author who wrote the story and had someone freak out on you," James pointed out, finally returning to his computer. "He was a dick, but think about it from his perspective. Makes him less of a dick."

Not by a lot. Tartt still had no right to come after me the way he did. But, James maybe had a point. If I really considered it, I could maybe possibly see where Tartt would think he was doing something correct.

Maybe.

☕︎︎☕︎︎☕︎

The rest of Wednesday and pretty much all of Thursday passed by without anything of note happening. I called with my mom and she showed me the printed out version of my article she had hung up right next to my graduation photo. I explained over FaceTime to my grandparents how to actually access the article.

I texted my brother the link. Once again, no response. I had talked to Mom about it ("Liam is... Liam. He needs time. You know him" she had told me), but she didn't say anything I didn't know. I wasn't sure how much more time he would need. It'd been years.

Thursday night featured my roommates and I watching a romcom (that night was You've Got Mail, yet another piece of required viewing for that apartment) while we discussed our weeks.

"Yeah, Chloe and I broke up," Jess announced as Joe waited in line at Starbucks and provided commentary in his email about consumerism or some other pretentious topic.

"What?" Lily exclaimed, twisting around in her seat to face Jess more fully. "When?"

"I thought you guys were doing so well," I frowned, attempting to search Jess' heavily guarded face. Never the romantic, at least on the surface. Lily and I hadn't even met Chloe before, but this was Jess' longest relationship in a long time. I knew she had to have been more upset this than she seemed.

"Yeah," Jess said, seemingly in agreement to what I said. "But uh, we just didn't work out. We called it off about a week ago."

A week? Had she been secretly crying into tubs of ice cream and watching ridiculously sad movies without us? Had she just been keeping it in?

"Jesus, I'm sorry," Lily said, reaching over and rubbing Jess' arm.

"Yeah, what're you gonna do, you know? There's plenty of girls that are way more fit than fucking Chloe," Jess said. It was clearly more for Lily's benefit than her own.

"Cheers to that," I held up my water and clinked it with Jess and Lily's beers.

☕︎︎☕︎︎☕︎

We finished up the movie at around midnight. I headed into my room and decided to finish up some research I was doing before heading off to bed.

I couldn't focus, though. My mind kept wandering back to Tartt. Kept wandering back to our heated interaction. I wondered briefly what he would have said if Colin hadn't interrupted us. My mind also kept flashing his forearms in that stupids fucking jacket he had worn.

It was enough for the guy to be an asshole, but what really made me angry was that he was still hot. Like, absurdly good looking. Why did asshole pricks also have to be blessed by God to look that good?

Maybe I just needed to get laid. Or maybe I just needed to sleep.

It was 12:45 when I changed out of my leggings and semi-nice blouse and changed into pajama pants and an old college sweatshirt. I slipped into bed and tried to push any and all thought related to Jamie Tartt and his very nice forearms out of my mind.

That didn't last long, though, since as soon as I got comfortable my phone began to vibrate like crazy on my bedside table. Groaning, I sat up and flipped it over.

The caller ID read 'COLIN HUGHES.' Why was Colin calling me at nearly 1 in the morning? We never called. Only texted occasionally and talked in the mornings at our coffee shop.

Confused, I answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Oi, she answered!" He yelled on the other end of the line. A few loud cheers came from his end and I had to hold the phone away from my ear slightly as to not burst my ear drum. "Sabrina! Did you know you're a great friend!"

Ah. He was drunk. I could hear the slight slur of his words and the pure giddy laughter surrounding him from his friends.

"Colin, what's going on? Why did you call me?" I asked, readjusting myself so I my back was leaned against the head board of my bed. "It's one in the morning, do you know that?"

"Yes! I do!" Colin insisted, shushing his friends in that way that drunk people do that only makes everyone get louder. "See, I burned my keys."

I exhaled in a half-laugh-half-confused-sigh. "You what? You burned your keys?"

"Yes!"

"Can I ask... why you did that?"

"Why had to get rid of the ghost!" Another voice answered my question and I realized I must be on speaker phone.

I felt like I was missing something, and I was sure I was. A ghost? A ghost that hated car keys, apparently? "Right... so why did you call me?"

"Could you pretty please," it was once again Colin answering now. He dragged out the word 'please' and I immediately knew what he was going to ask me. "Come pick us up? And drive us home? Pleaseeee?"

I sighed again, glancing at the clock. 1:03 AM. "Can't you call an Uber?"

"Montlaur is banned from all driving services," Colin explained, seemingly exasperated with me.

"Son of a bitch," I muttered. I couldn't very well just leave how ever many drunk men are there stranded. "How many of you are there?"

"Just me, Isaac, and Montlaur," Colin said after pausing a moment to count.

"Pleaseeeee," Colin and another voice, who I'm assuming was Richard Montlaur, begged.

I had work the next morning. I seriously didn't want to drive right now. If I didn't, these three guys (one of whom is actually my friend) would be stranded without rescue.

I can't believe myself sometimes.

"Okay, okay. Where are you guys?"

☕︎︎☕︎︎☕︎

Nearly thirty minutes later, I was pulling into the Richmond training facility for the second time that day. I had my Spotify playlist connected and it was faintly playing New Years Day by Taylor Swift. As I pulled in, I heard the cheers of a large group of drunk Richmond players.

Colin, Isaac, and Montlaur pushed their way out of the crowd as I pulled up in front of the group. I rolled down my window.

"Alright, come on," I said, unlocking my car doors.

"Sabrina! You're the best! I owe my first born," Montlaur enthusiastically said as he and Isaac piled into my back seat. Colin hurried around the other side of the car and sat shotgun next to me.

"No, it's alright," I assured, noting the empty seat. I cursed myself silently as I turned to my car window again and asked, "Anyone else need a ride? Got room for one more."

A chorus of 'no's and 'we're all good, love's met me in return until someone pushed someone else out of the circle. The pushed man stumbled forward a little and I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.

"I need a ride," Tartt said, regaining his balance.

I stared at him. He couldn't be serious. He stared at me, running a hand through his hair. His stupid hand and his stupid fucking forearms. I could rip the steering wheel right out of the car.

"No," I said.

"Ooh," the team echoed. The three in my car laughed wildly, even Isaac. A few in the large group called out teases to Tartt.

Tartt waved his hands at the crowd, but he didn't smile or smirk. He didn't seem smug about the fact that I was denying him a ride. He almost looked embarrassed if I squinted.

"Fuck off, you lot," he told the group. They returned to their loud conversations and Tartt moved closer to my car. "Lewis, are you seriously going to leave me stranded here? Alone?"

"Your cars right there, mate!" Colin pointed over somewhere in the distance that the darkness masked.

"And you hardly drank," Isaac added. "Sure you're fine."

Tartt grimaced at his teammates words before flicking his eyes back to me. "Don't like to drive if I even had a drop."

"Responsible," I deadpanned. "Still no. I don't drive pricks. Call an Uber."

The song had changed to Something by The Beatles and Colin hummed along in the passenger seat softly. Tartt's eyes narrowed in a way that seemed more analytical than judgmental, like he normally looked.

"If John Lennon was asking you a ride would you ask him to call an Uber?"

I half-chuckled and shook my head. The ego on this man was unlike anything I'd seen before. "No fucking way you're comparing yourself to John Lennon."

He seemed to sense his mistake and began to backtrack. "No, no like the both of us are known and-"

"Yes, if John Lennon was a prick I would tell him to call an Uber," I answered, cutting off his rambling.

"He was," Isaac supplied. "Beating his wife an' all."

I nodded, gesturing back to Isaac. "See?"

Tartt seemed insulted. I wasn't sure if it was because of the fact that I had continued to deny him a ride or if it was the insinuation that he was that big a prick. However, I took his silence as a chance to roll my window up.

I began to back up. My phone was being handed to Montlaur for him to put his address in. I was fully ready to leave and just get home.

However, I looked out of my backup mirror. Tartt stood staring off in the distance. His arms were once again shoved into jacket pockets. His lips moved in a slight mutter, and I realized he was actually upset.

"Fuck me," I mumbled, putting the car back in reverse and pulling up in front of where he stood again.

"Uhhh, wrong way my friend," Montlaur said.

"Shhhhhhh," Colin turned and shushed his teammate. "We're witnessing history."

"Fuck off, Hughes," I said, though I felt more confused about what he was saying than ever. I rolled down my window once again and Tartt gave me a confused look.

"What are you-"

"Just get in. And don't be a dick."